The drunks chat me up...

Having a cocktail at my favorite bar has become nearly impossible. I have had the unfortunate luck of attracting the drunkard. He approaches me and leans over the bar to tell me his story. His breath his horrid and he is shouting at me, revealing to me a story I can never understand. I smile and pretend that I am listening to the freak show. Spit flies out of his mouth and sometimes he spills his drink atop the counter. He repeats his story over and over again, and I cannot escape.

I have now gone to the bar and set a little tip jar next to my cocktail. When a drunkard approaches me, he will have to place a couple of dollars into the jar so that I can lend him my ear for the ten minutes or so. I do not know why the drunkards are attracted to me, but it seems as though I have the knack for picking them up at the bars. My ears are not free anymore; they will have to place their bills into my little jar to get me to pay attention. I will save the little money from the tip jar to buy a little house plant to put onto my coffee table.